


Restless

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaining a reputation as a feared and skilled pirate in the Waking Sea and Amaranthine Ocean, Isabela seeks out a new adventure with her crew -- and Merrill -- at her side. Her sights fall on Estwatch Island, a storied isle from her youth, reputed to be haunted. Against her better judgment, Merrill agrees to help her reach the 'Isle of Spirits.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnandtea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnandtea/gifts).



**Chapter One**

 

Dawn came slowly over the ocean. Merrill watched the sun peek over the horizon, as though it wished to see if the world was worth shining on for another day; she supposed it made up its mind that it was, because it rose just as surely as it always did. There was a strange feeling, being out at sea during the sunrise, as though the world held its breath around you. Merrill couldn’t say it was an altogether nice feeling, though it wasn’t as terrible as it had been when she’d first joined Isabela’s crew.

At first, Merrill had hated the rocking of the ship, the creaking of the boards, the flapping of the sails, the noise and boisterous laughter of the men as they stomped around and sharpened their blades and played their cards and did whatever Isabela commanded them to do. She had longed for the steadiness of dry land, for the certainty of home and the warmth of the fire and quiet and peace. But her dislike for the ocean and for the men she found herself in the company of were easily placed aside when she looked at Isabela.

Of course, she had always been beautiful, but at sea, she was exquisite. The salt of the sea seemed to invigorate her, the rocking of the waves were soothing to a body that had desperately missed them; the spray of the ocean and the call of the gulls were like coming home to a heart that had been without them for too long. When Merrill looked at her, she saw joy; pure and unbridled and uncomplicated. She was brighter than the sunshine reflecting on water and the gold at her throat.

She remembered how Isabela had spoken of the sea, when she had been stuck in Kirkwall with no ship and nothing to do but wander down by the docks and watch the water rise and fall against the pilings. There had been so much wistfulness in her voice, so much sadness. Now when she spoke, Merrill could hear the joy in her voice, and she knew it was a great challenge keeping the smile from her face while she addressed the crew. 

Captain Isabela was becoming a well-known name in the Waking Sea and even into the Amaranthine Ocean, but Merrill knew that Isabela was still feeling restless. She wanted an adventure like she’d never had before, while Merrill was happy enough to sail the sea peacefully and dock for a night or two of rest in a comfortable bed. They were different people, but that didn’t mean that they were incapable of meeting in the middle. 

“One little adventure,” Isabela said, when they were below decks with nothing but the creaking of the ship to disturb them. “That’s all.”

“Life is an adventure,” Merrill said. “Or did I dream the bit where we steal from people and have giant chests filled with sovereigns?”

“I don’t want the money,” Isabela said, and when Merrill looked at her doubtfully, Isabela laughed and nipped the end of her nose. “I mean I don’t want only the money,” she corrected, still laughing. “I want to go somewhere that I’ve only heard of in stories. I want to stand on a shore that my boots have never known and breathe air that I’ve never tasted. You don’t just spend your whole life chasing the horizon and never catch it, do you?”

In Merrill’s experience, that was precisely what you did. You lived your life chasing dreams and sacrificed everything in the name of your greatest desire. Quietly, secretly, she kept that bitterness under her ribs, close to her heart. It was a thorn there, painful, but it was necessary; better to remember what her dreams had cost her than forget and let someone else she loved suffer for it. 

“I want something exciting,” Isabela said. Her voice was husky, soft on Merrill’s ear. Her touch was soft too, warm fingertips curled against Merrill’s inner thigh. “Don’t you want something exciting, kitten?”

Merrill flushed to the points of her ears, smiling when Isabela’s lips touched her throat. “Ohh, I could go for some excitement,” Merrill said. She rolled over, pushing Isabela against the mattress and sitting astride her hips. Her hair slipped free and tumbled over her shoulders and face, and Isabela gently pushed the locks back, tucking them behind her flushed ear. 

Her fingertips moved to her vallaslin, tracing over the deep carved marks delicately, as though she was worried they hurt her. Of course they didn’t, but Merrill liked the attention, nuzzling her cheek against Isabela’s palm. 

“I can’t promise you adventure,” Merrill said. “But I can give you excitement, if you like.”

She leaned down and kissed her, tangling their fingers together and slipping her tongue against Isabela’s. She always tasted like wine and sweetness, and Merrill was always happy to become drunk from her kisses. 

When their sweat was drying and their hearts slowing, Isabela whispered, “Estwatch,” against the dark. Merrill knew of the island, and of it reportedly being haunted, though she had never believed the tales. She knew that the Veil could be thin in some places — like the graveyard on Sundermount where the graves were shallow and the spirits restless — but she also knew that Estwatch had been hotly contested for some time and the stories were only meant to scare everyone away. 

Isabela had grown up on Rivain, close to the island. She had heard the stories, of course, and she seemed to believe them about as much as she believed that the Maker would return to the world if enough stuffy sisters and brothers talked about him. If she wanted to sail for the island and see what riches rested there, Merrill didn’t see the harm in it. 

“Oh, alright,” Merrill said. “I suppose we’re setting sail for ghost island.”


	2. Amaranthine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stopping at Amaranthine for rest and supplies, what should be a short stop becomes indefinite when Merrill falls ill.

**Chapter Two**

Amaranthine welcomed them warmly; or warm, at least, compared to the chilly mist of the sea. Isabela planned on stopping at the town for her men to stretch their legs and to procure some provisions for their little excursion to Estwatch, but it seemed like their docking would be indefinite; until the violent storms on the ocean cleared and they could safely sail for the haunted isle. 

The buccaneer in her demanded she grab all the ale and gold she could get her hands on and shove off for Estwatch, storms be damned. But she wasn’t just a pirate; she was a captain, and she had a certain obligation to her crew. Even still, if not for Merrill, Isabela might have risked it. Judging by the restless way her men sharpened their blades and kept their eyes turned towards the water, Isabela knew they would have jumped at the chance to sail into the storms.

Well, it couldn’t be helped. She wouldn’t risk Merrill’s life for some island that may or may not have been infested with ghosts. Wouldn’t Hawke be amazed to see her so grounded and thoughtful? _Bugger._

Merrill liked the city. She remarked that it held far fewer dark corners and alleyways than Kirkwall, and Isabela smiled. Sometimes she missed the city with its secrets and its shadows and its familiar sharp edges. Still, she understood Merrill’s distaste for it; it was a dangerous place to lose yourself. Isabela had the scars to prove it. 

They wandered Amaranthine, Isabela telling her men to tether themselves to the tavern if they knew what was good for them. She didn’t want them spilling blood or ticking off any of the guardsmen if they had to stay for longer than a night. Honestly, if they could quit the city by dawn, she wouldn’t have minded them getting into a bit of trouble and mischief. 

Her first mate, a brawny man named Tomas, nodded his understanding before she left. He was made of muscle and scars and not much else; the way she preferred her mate to be. Tomas would keep them in line while they walked the city, or she would see him stripped of a bit of flesh and dipped in the bay.

“Ooh, look,” Merrill said, racing off to a stall on the other side of the market. Isabela wended her way through the crowd, and by the time she caught up with Merrill, she had placed a rather outlandish hat on her head. Obviously it was meant to look like a pirate’s hat, broad and made of black silk, with a crimson feather stuck in the brim; but to Isabela it looked more like a costume for children, something they used to play pirate while their mothers fussed. 

“Isn’t it just the most _darling?_ ” Merrill asked, removing the hat to look at it admiringly. Isabela smiled and nodded, running a finger over the silk. “Very fine,” she said to Merrill, and to the merchant behind the stall she asked, “How much?”

“Asking price is 10 sovereigns,” the man said. “But for two pretty ladies, I can go as low as seven.”

“Seven sovereigns,” Isabela sighed. “Kitten, I’m not sure if—”

Merrill placed the hat back on her head, not hearing Isabela at all. Her grin was wide and sweet and Isabela sighed and untied the pouch at her hip, sliding it to the merchant.

“Sold, then,” she said.

****

News from the men who dropped anchor that morning was that the storms over the oceans had cleared. Isabela might have felt a little more joy at the news if not for Merrill taking ill and needing at least a week of bedrest. 

“I spoil everything,” she whined, as Isabela sat down gently at the edge of the bed with a bowl of soup steaming in her hands. 

“No,” Isabela comforted. “You know that’s not true. Now save your energy. You’ve a long way to go ‘til you’re better.”

A week was a long time for a bunch of pirates to spend holed up in a tavern in the heart of Amaranthine. Isabela worried that her men wouldn’t be able to contain themselves for much longer; and if they found their way out onto the streets, she was certain that Amaranthine would not be a friendly harbor any longer. 

And of course, a week was a long time when it came to the weather. There was no telling if Estwatch wouldn’t be surrounded by another strong batch of storms when Merrill’s fever broke and they could finally take to the water again. 

It was possible she would never see the island at all.

“I’m sorry,” Merrill whispered. 

“You stop that,” Isabela said, gently. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

That was true, but Isabela looked at the map of unrolled on her desk, and wondered if she’d ever know if the stories she’d heard as a child about the Isle of Spirits.


	3. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After more than a week cooped up in the city, Isabela's crew is restless. One man's short temper leads to desertion, a chase through the city, and a daring escape.

**Chapter Three**

 

What Isabela had dreaded happened their final night in Amaranthine. One of her men got a little too bold and was caught cheating in a high stakes game of Diamondback. The man that threw the accusations moved to draw a blade, but her man was quicker and had his unsheathed and stabbed in his accuser’s shoulder before the man could fumble his out.

The guards were called, and after an hour of heated arguments and some more blood, they were thrown out of the Crown and Lion and dragged towards the dungeons. Merrill, of course, was still too sick to move quickly, and one of the guards jabbed her in the lower back with the hilt of his blade. If not for that, Isabela believed the night might have ended with no further incident; they could have served their time under the city for however the guards deemed appropriate and then they could be on their way. 

If not for that strike to Merrill’s back and her sharp, pained intake of breath that followed, the night would have ended much differently. 

“Don’t you hurt her,” Isabela warned. Perhaps, if he had said or done nothing, she would have bitten her tongue and stilled her hands and calmly walked the length of the road to the jails. If he had stared ahead and kept corralling them like wayward sheep, he might not have ended the night in the infirmary. Instead, the guard chose to _laugh._ He laughed as though she wasn’t Captain Isabela, one of the most well-known and feared pirates that had sailed the seas; he laughed as though she hadn’t stood up to tyrants and corrupted Knight-Commanders and seen an entire city burn. 

The laughter cut her, as sure and as deep as any blade. How many men have howled at her when she demanded their respect? Every man she had ever met seemed to believe he had the divine right to throw his weight around like he was Lord and Commander, or the Maker Himself. 

Isabela stopped his laughter with her blade, jamming it between his ribs. He fell against her a bit, with a rush of breath hot on her face. “Be grateful,” she said against his ear, “I could have killed you.” He was lucky she knew just where to stab a man to miss his vitals, though she was certain the pain was rather exquisite.

He collapsed to his knees, sputtering. One of the guards in the front saw and shouted to his fellows. Moonlight glinted on their blades as they were drawn from their sheaths. Isabela stepped in front of her Merrill, her blade bloody, losing its glint under the moon. Her men rallied around her, and she saw the flicker of uncertainty on the guardsmen’s faces. They were outnumbered, by easily a dozen men, and they knew that if it came to a fight, the pirates would best them. 

“Drop your weapons,” one of the guardsmen said. “And you won’t wind up at the gallows. Don’t be fools.”

“We only want the woman,” another cajoled. “That’s all. If you give her to us, we’ll move along, and you can all return to your ship and leave.”

“Won’t turn on the Captain,” one of her men, Jeffrey, said. “We got us a code, guardsman.”

“Pirates with a code,” a guardsman laughed. 

“That’s right,” Tomas said. “We never turn on the Captain, not even if we have to die for it.”

“Not even for twenty sovereigns apiece?” The guardsman who Isabela had stabbed sputtered out. “What does your code say to that?”

Silence.

Isabela’s stomach fell. 

****

Nearly half of her men deserted her. Isabela ran through the alleys with what remained, gripping Merrill’s hand and pulling her along behind her. She remembered Merrill saying that she was glad Amaranthine wasn’t as winding and confusing as Kirkwall, and she felt like laughing. It would have made losing the guardsmen and her traitorous crew much easier. 

The docks were ahead. She could hear the mournful call of the gulls as they circled and dove, and the creaking of the masts in the light breeze. There were also a number of guards milling around, keeping watch for thieves and privateers who might make off with one of their precious little boats. Isabela had no time to think of how they might slip past them as she moved from the alleyway and out into the open. Merrill’s hand was damp in hers, and Isabela looked at her worriedly. 

She was swooning, leaned heavily against the wall, her color high and her breath coming sharply. Tomas gave Isabela a look of concern before he scooped Merrill into his arms and followed after her towards the rustling of their black sails against the sky. 

The guards had thinned some, probably drawn towards the center of town with the commotion they had caused. No doubt they were in pursuit with the others now, ready to swoop down on them at any moment; if they didn’t board the ship soon and shove off for Estwatch, they would never see sunrise. 

Isabela took a deep breath to steady her nerves, before she ran for her ship with her men in tow behind her. She shouted for them to draw up the moorings as she raced up the ramp and got the helm under her hands. It felt nice to stand there again, with the breeze rustling her hair and solid wood in her fingers. 

There was a shout as the guardsmen poured from the alley and ran for the docks. Isabela spotted her treacherous crew and almost jumped from the ship to take them on, to open up their yellow bellies, but she knew it would be foolish. Amaranthine needed to become a distant memory, a spot on the horizon as they sailed away. As much for her sake as for Merrill’s, whom Tomas had carried below decks and laid on the bed before sprinting up to cut the moorings and lift anchor. 

They moved, slowly, from the dock, the last of her men scrambling up the ramp before tossing it into the sea. 

A few of the guardsmen boarded them, but they were dispatched quickly and tossed overboard, making a terrible splash that kept the other guards at bay. 

It was only when they were well away from the city that Isabela realized how tightly she had been holding the helm; her knuckles were white, and her fingers were sore. She curled and relaxed them with a wince, handing the helm to Tomas as she slipped below deck to check on Merrill.

She was sleeping, a bit brokenly, but calm enough. Her breathing had softened, and her the high color on her cheeks had faded. Isabela pressed her palm to her brow, and found her cool to the touch. Relief left her feeling a bit weak, along with fading adrenaline, and she sighed, leaning down to touch her lips to Merrill’s forehead. 

Merrill stirred. “Where’m?” She asked. Her voice was slightly slurred, soft and scratched. Isabela smoothed her hair back and shook her head. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “It’s alright, kitten.”

“M’sorry,” Merrill groaned. “I spoil everything.”

Nothing that had happened was her fault, and even if it was, however indirectly, Isabela didn’t hold it against her. She wondered how often Merrill spent feeling responsible for everything rotten that ever happened, and her heart sank a bit. She kissed her brow again, in case Merrill believed the apology was necessary.

“Rest, kitten,” she said. “You’ll need your strength once we get to Estwatch.”

“Isle of Spirits,” Merrill laughed, weakly. “You’ve lost mind, haven’t you? Still… want adventure?”

Isabela smiled, brushing her thumb over Merrill’s trembling lips. 

“Always,” she said.


	4. Estwatch Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally arriving at Estwatch Island, Isabela and Merrill discover that the isle is everything -- and nothing -- that they were expecting. Forced to confront their pasts and stare into the eyes of the people they loved, and failed, they have to make the decision to leave everything behind them, or be swallowed by what haunts them most.

**Chapter Four**

Even before the Island was in view, Merrill knew that the stories that had been whispered to Isabela as a child were true. The air of the place reminded her of the heights of Sundermount, where the dead were buried and where souls did not sleep easily. It wasn’t only that the Veil was thin on Estwatch — no, Merrill doubted very much that the Veil existed at all. 

She said as much to Isabela, up on deck, with fog heavy and dense around them and what remained of her crew scrambling around deck. There was a knot of worry between Isabela’s eyes, but she kept them on course as best she could. One of her men shouted down from the crow’s nest that he could see land ahead, a smattering of islands dotting the sea, and Isabela smiled in relief. 

“We shouldn’t be here,” Merrill warned. “There are restless things here. Demons, maybe.”

“I have you to protect me, kitten,” Isabela said. She tipped Merrill’s chin up when she looked down, leaving a kiss at the corner of her lips. “We’ll be alright. I promise you.” Pulling back, she shouted at her men “Get your sorry hides in motion! We’ve an adventure to find!”

****

Merrill knew that the loss of her crew weighed heavily on Isabela, but she refused to even entertain the topic, interrupting Merrill and redirecting her whenever she brought it up. Something worse than betrayal had happened on the streets of Amaranthine — and Merrill knew that Isabela wished to hunt the men down and make them pay. Not even for their desertion, but for ever making her believe they could be trusted. 

Isabela’s trust was difficult to earn, and once broken, it was impossible to regain. She told Merrill that she had been hurt too often to ever leave herself so vulnerable. _When a blade cuts your hand, you don’t offer it your throat,_ she had said, with her eyes turned away and her lips trembling slightly. Her throat was offered to Merrill with no fear, left vulnerable to kiss and touch and bite; and she knew that it was a privilege, and not one she wanted to waste. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Merrill told her, as they unloaded the supplies they meant to bring with them from the ship. 

Isabela straightened, pushing a heavy load of camping gear into Merrill’s waiting arms. “’Course not,” Isabela said. “I don’t control the weather, do I? Can’t help the fog.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean,” Merrill said. “I meant your men leaving you back in Amaranthine. I know that you lost men before…”

“When we ran aground in Kirkwall,” Isabela said. “They had the excuse of dying. They weren’t cowards.” Her voice was sharp, almost as sharp as the dagger tucked into her boot, but Merrill didn’t flinch. Mostly because the sharpness wasn’t aimed at her. 

“You’re a good Captain,” Merrill said. “Look how many stayed.”

“Onward, gents,” Isabela said, as her men gathered round her. She ignored Merrill’s words, giving her a pat on the bottom to spur her forward. “Let’s get to it.”

****

Adventure, as it turned out, found them. 

There was a campsite in a clearing, found when they had crashed through the jungle for nearly an hour in the darkness. Isabela checked the tents and bedrolls, while Merrill wandered over to the firepit. Something about the air was wrong, but she couldn’t explain what, and it ceased to matter as she knelt beside the fire and touched the burned kindling. It was cool to the touch; whoever had made the camp had long since moved on.

“Blast,” Isabela said. “Someone beat us here.”

A wave of exhaustion washed over Merrill as she looked into the blackened pit. They had traveled a long time, and she had been sick and weakened for some time. It was natural that she would be tired — yet she knew that something didn’t feel right. This was not tiredness but _malaise_ , heavy and terrible. 

Something wanted her to sleep, and very badly. 

“We need to leave,” Merrill said. Her voice sounded like it was coming from a distance, as though her ears were stuffed with cotton. Still, she struggled to speak; “It isn’t safe here.”

With great effort, she looked up, and found Isabela collapsed on the ground, with her men fanned around her in lifeless lumps. 

Merrill tried to crawl to her, but the darkness took her. 

****

Somewhere, there was water dripping. The sound echoed, bouncing around her, until she couldn’t tell where it came from. When she opened her eyes, it was so dark she couldn’t see, but the smell of the place was dank and coppery and _wrong_ , and Merrill winced. 

A cave, she figured. It smelled like one. She had spent enough time in blighted caves to recognize one. But that made no sense. She had been in the middle of the jungle the last she remembered, staring into the burned ash of a firepit, with Isabela—

 _Isabela_ , Merrill thought frantically, and she desperately tried to stand, tried to move, tried to feel her way along the rock wall.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t even see where she was trying to go. She collapsed back to the ground, breath coming fast and sharp, heart beating against her ribs. 

_It’s alright, da’len,_ a voice said from the darkness. It was soothing, gentle… and familiar.

Merrill felt tears slip down her face.

“Keeper,” she whispered, before a hand touched her and everything was too bright. 

****

There was salt water in her mouth. Isabela spat and sputtered, pushing herself up on her hands and getting her knees beneath her. She wiped sand from her face with a grimace, looking around her to see where in the hell she was. She couldn’t have gotten back to the beach without remembering it, and where did her men get to?

Where was Merrill?

Isabela called for her, but there was no response. There was no sound at all.

That was odd. No sound? There was always at least _some_ sound on a beach, no matter how deserted. The sound of the waves washing up against the sand, the sound of gulls crying overhead, the sound of bugs and birds and a million other tiny little noises that had simply ceased to exist on this little stretch of beach. 

It was then that she realized she was not on Estwatch at all. This was not an island, but the sharp strip of sand of the Wounded Coast. 

This was where she had washed up, all those years earlier, when the Qunari had been on her tail and the Tome of Koslun had been cradled under her arm. 

She couldn’t be there. Rationally, Isabela understood that — but there was a little whisper, a nagging little voice, at the back of her mind, that reminded her she had never really left. 

For ten years she had been on this beach, in this quiet, burying herself in guilt and shame and _anger_. Ten years she had shoveled and labored, until she was buried up to her neck, and the water was moving in.

“I’ve no need to be here,” Isabela said, to no one, sitting on her knees with the silent water and gulls and muted birds. She closed her eyes and willed whatever vision she was having to end, but when she opened them, she remained where she was, with sand digging into her skin like tiny pieces of glass. 

Except there was someone with her now. She could see a shape further down the beach, and he was moving closer to her. 

Isabela tried to stand and found she couldn’t move. 

****

Marethari looked like she always had, with her patient smile and warm eyes that crinkled at the corners. Merrill, in her elation at seeing her, forgot that she had killed her atop Sundermount, driving a knife into her stomach and holding her as she shuddered and life fled her body. Every bit of childish want and need surged to the surface, and Merrill collapsed against her, her body wracked with tears, thin shoulders trembling.

“You killed me, da’len,” Marethari whispered.

Merrill flinched, but she didn’t pull away. She worried that if she did, Marethari might disappear and return her to darkness; that she would slip away like so much smoke through her fingers, and she would never be able to hold onto her again. 

“Why did you hurt me?” Marethari asked. “I loved you. I wanted to save you.”

She had shouldered the burden of her people and Marethari had paid the price for it. Of course she had only wanted to protect her, to save her from the dangerous path she walked down. Merrill had been too stubborn, too foolish to see the danger she was placing herself — and her entire clan — in. 

But she had told her not to interfere, not to try and stop her from restoring the Eluvian and reclaiming a lost piece of their history. More than that, she had asked for her help, coming to her not as her former first, but as her child; and Marethari had refused to hear her. 

“Why did you turn from me, Keeper?” Merrill asked. She was _angry_ , suddenly; with the Keeper, with herself, with whatever demon was toying with her and using her greatest failure to taunt her. “Why didn’t you stand with me when I needed you?”

“I sacrificed myself for you,” Marethari said.

“I never asked you to!” Merrill shouted. She pulled back and watched Marethari’s face shivered, like glass ready to shatter. Whatever wore her skin was afraid of Merrill’s anger, and she wondered how many people had come to Estwatch and not seen through its terrible guise. “I never asked you to die for me, Keeper. I asked you to stand with me, to _help me_.”

“You abandoned the Clan, chasing after dangerous things you could never understand,” Marethari whispered, her voice almost a hiss. The thin veneer shattered, finally, and the demon beneath Marethari’s skin revealed itself; a demon of hunger, misshapen and deformed, reaching for her in an attempt to devour her — every fiber of her that had ever wanted or desired or dreamed or hoped. 

“No,” Merrill said, firmly. There was no tremble in her voice, or her body. Her eyes were dry. “I abandoned no one.” Softer, in a whisper, she said; “Rest now, Keeper. Please. Be at peace.”

For a moment, before the darkness returned and Merrill was lost to it, she saw Marethari — not the demon that had worn her like some cheap costume, but Marethari.

“Goodbye, Keeper,” Merrill whispered, and Marethari reached out to take her hand before the darkness dropped and she was lost again.

****

Isabela hadn’t thought of the woman in some time, but when she was sitting on the sand in front of her, she wondered how she had ever kept her mind from her. She was beautiful; brown skin and dark eyes, hair shorn close to her scalp, pointed ears heavily pierced. She had a voice that flowed over her like a tidal wave, washing away all worry and doubt and fear. 

Lila had been her first mate when they had run aground. Isabela had searched, digging through rock and sand, wading into frigid water until her teeth chattered and her lips turned blue, looking for her — but she had been swept away, lost to the ocean that they both loved. 

“You can’t be here,” Isabela said. “I mean, I’m happy to see you, sweetheart, but you’re a little… dead.”

Lila smiled. Isabela remembered kissing that smile below decks, letting dust and shadow settle around them. Sometimes they would tangle together in the sheets, but more often they would lie together in the dark and speak of secret things they had never told anyone else. With great hesitance, Isabela had spoken of her mother, of the marriage she had been forced into, of how she had been sold like livestock of little value. 

And Lila, with the same hesitance, spoke of the orphanages, of the cruelty of the streets, of the back alleys of Antiva that had driven her to the relative safety of the sea. The sea, she had said, with her fingers curling in Isabela’s hair and her naked body tucked against Isabela’s side, was like a good friend. You would always find your way to it, and it would always be there for you; the one constant in an otherwise inconstant world. 

“The sea does not lie,” Lila said. “It does not make demands. It does not expect anything from you. That was why you were suited for the sea, Isabela; you could take and take and take without giving anything in return.”

“No,” Isabela said, but her chest shook with the words, and she understood they were true. Or maybe they were what she wanted to believe, what she had told herself time and time again, whenever she had carved a space large enough for someone to crawl inside of. 

She could hear Hawke, somewhere far off in the distance; _You’re afraid of being anything else._

“I’m afraid of being loved,” she said, and there were tears, hot and slick and sudden, on her cheeks. “That’s all. I’ve never… I’ve never let myself…”

“Who could love you?” Lila asked, cupping Isabela’s cheek and slipping a thumb over her lips. “When you can’t even love yourself?”

The words hurt, but Isabela recognized them as her own. They came from nowhere but the depths of her own heart, and she steeled herself against them. Somewhere close, she could sense defeat lurking — and it felt safer; it felt softer — but she couldn’t give in. 

“I have someone waiting for me,” Isabela said. “I’m sorry to cut this short, love. I really am.” She meant to sound teasing, playful with whatever wore the face of her lover, but instead she sounded sad, apologetic, _regretful_. Because of her, Lila was lost out there somewhere, her body as much a part of the sea as the coral and reeds. “I’m sorry,” Isabela repeated, her voice rough and choked. “I’m so sorry.”

Lila’s face trembled. 

Isabela never got to see what rested beneath. The tide swelled and took her. 

****

Merrill awoke, unsure of if she was actually waking or still caught within the Fade, prey for another demon. When she sat up — slowly, taking care with her aching head and sudden vertigo — and found herself in the clearing, surrounded by Isabela and her crew, she breathed out a sigh of relief. 

With great care, she moved to where Isabela lay, pausing every few steps to take in a deep breath and fight off her dizziness. Reaching Isabela, Merrill got to her knees and shook her, gently, whispering her name until her eyes fluttered and she looked up at her in confusing. Her eyes were wet and rimmed with red, but when she saw Merrill kneeling over her, she smiled.

“Kitten,” she whispered. “Are you alright?”

Merrill nodded and stroked her hair from her forehead, leaning down to press a kiss against her warm skin. She wanted to tell her what had happened, what she had seen and felt, but she knew that it was something that had to belong to only her. When she pulled back and looked into Isabela’s eyes, she understood that Isabela had her own secrets, locked away somewhere Merrill could never touch.

“Still ready for that adventure?” Merrill asked, looking from Isabela’s eyes to the clearing, where the crew was beginning to stir. 

“Oh, no,” Isabela chuckled. “I think I’ve had all the adventure I want.”

****

Back on the ship, leaving Estwatch behind them, Isabela leaned against the railing and looked down into the murky water. She thought of Lila, of the tremble on her face the moment before Isabela had been dragged into darkness, and her heart hurt for her. 

It was time to let go. Let the dead sleep, as easily as they could. The stories of her mother and grandmother were left behind, on the sands of Estwatch, and she turned her focus instead to the horizon in the distance, brightening with the dawn. 

“I’m sorry,” Merrill said. “I know you wanted something grand and exciting.”

“That was enough excitement for a few lifetimes,” Isabela said. She put her arm around Merrill’s shoulders and pulled her close, pressing a kiss against her hair. There was adventure to be had, she knew, somewhere out there; but for now, she was content to lead Merrill below decks and lose herself there in the dust and shadows with Merrill’s breath quick in her ear. 

Adventure, she figured, had many forms.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for yarnandtea~


End file.
